V4 Announcements

Credit to Clueless for writing the 1st, 2nd and 3rd announcements, as well as the Liz Polanski incident.

The First Announcement
In spite of it being the crack of dawn, the HQ of the terrorists was already bustling with activity. The game didn't wait for the night and there was always plenty of nocturnal action to be monitoring. Shifts of Danya's henchmen were watching cameras at all time, making sure nobody got up to anything, whilst the techs ensured that there wasn't anything untoward going on with the equipment. Since last year, the screws had really been tightened on that count.

Achlys stifled a yawn. He'd been up all freaking night watching a screen with the same set of diagnostics, barely fluctuating. It was boring as hell and didn't get any easier with tiredness. Were he not worried that one of the serious toadies would spot him at it, he would've been tempted to take a snooze. But no, bad idea with people like Cecily about, that bitch was cutthroat...

In truthfulness the veteran didn't really see the point in all of this. The reason the kids had managed to get their collars off last version was the result of a monumental fuck up by somebody at HQ, not because the kids had been particularly smart or adept. If the cameras hadn't been knocked out, they would have blown the collars in the blink of an eye. Achyls had seen the work Lourvey had done on the new models this time, he'd tested the technology himself. They were foolproof.

Yet Danya was Danya. Achyls hadn't navigated three entire versions of the game by not following his orders. There was a reason he was still alive when so much of the original crew was gone, and that was because he kept his head down. McLocke, Kaige, Rice, Grossi, Garnett...

"Sup?"

Achyls couldn't help it, he jumped. He looked around into the smiling face of Jim Greynolds, blue eyes bright and inquisitive behind his spectacles. Greynolds looked like your typical geek... and he scared Achyls shitless. Forget guys like Wilson (and to a lesser extent, say, Baines). Those guys were physically intimidating, but that was simple stuff. Greynolds was just... disturbing. He smiled constantly, no matter what manner of blood and gore was on the cameras, he...

The tech shook himself out of it, now wasn't the time. "Just..." he yawned. "Just finishing my shift off, Greynolds."

Jim continued smiling amicably. "Bet that wasn't too exciting, huh?"

Achyls managed a sheepish half grin, not expecting Greynolds to sympathise. "Yeah, pretty mu-"

Greynolds seized Achyls by the shirt and practically hauled him out of his chair. He was still smiling. "It's not designed to be exciting," he hissed. "Suck it up."

"Y-Y-Yeah! Sure thing G-Greynolds!" the other man immediately let him go, allowing Achyls to sink gratefully back into his chair.

"Go get some sleep," Greynolds told the tech, idly running a hand through his hair. "Lourvey's gonna be along in about five seconds anyway."

"R-right," said Achyls, gratefuly for any opportunity to get away from Greynolds. He hadn't seen any of the so-called 'big four' for some time up until then, figuring they'd be busy with other things. As Achyls scrambled to leave the room, he found himself wondering what had changed, for Greynolds to be back all of a sudden.

Heading out into the corridor, Achyls very nearly bumped straight into Mr. Danya, the large man looking rather tired himself.

"Watch it," Danya growled. "Just because you're a vet doesn't mean I can't toss you onto the island."

Danya moved on, heading for his 'control room', whilst Achyls surpressed a shudder and reminded himself for the upteemth time that he needed to find a better job.

--

For the very first time, the students from Bayview Secondary School were treated to the screeches of feedback that heralded the public address system coming online. All across the island, speakers were powering up, their number (and volume) ensuring that they would be audible almost everywhere. The sound that emerged from them once the noise had died down; a slow, deliberate clapping.

Then, Mr. Danya spoke. "Kids, I have to say that I'm truly impressed with your first day showing. Blood! Tragedy! Explosions! Mayhem! You've utterly smashed the record for first day kills; it makes an old man proud to see you all taking his instructions so thoroughly to heart! Congratulations to those of you that are still alive, because you've already outlasted 20 of your classmates."

Sitting at his desk, Danya smirked, knowing that the figure would cause considerable distress. This run was their biggest yet, and it seemed that the number of students was preventing as many hiders as they'd had previously.

"Our first elimination for the day was frankly a favour for the genepool. Children, remember when I specifically told you not to tamper with those flash little numbers around your necks? Well... the terribly intelligent Remi Pierce elected to try and remove his collar. Needless to say, it worked... just not without taking his head off along with it. Next up, we had score one for mother nature after Dallas Reynolds was stung by a hornet and had such a bad allergic reaction he freaked out and blew his collar too! Sorry Dallas, I told Dorian to leave you with that epipen, but you know, his little joke."

There was a slight choking sound behind him and Danya chuckled to himself. Right now he imagined that his lackey was in the process of turning green.

"Third to die, as a shining example of why you really ought to keep good hold of your weapon if you were lucky enough to get a half-decent draw, was Warren Brown. Omar Burton shot him in the chest with his own gun, which would really have been quite embarrassing if he wasn't dead and all. Anyway, Eric Lorenz was next to meet his demise, taking a tumble at the hands of Alex Rasputin and winding up getting impaled on a fence. I guess the stakes were too high for him."

Somebody somewhere, Danya considered, just took a shot.

"Fifth wasted was, uh... hold on, let me make sure I get this one right. Reika Ishida, you heard that kids? Reika, the one nobody really cared about. She made the mistake of startling Kris Hartmann, who took her out like a pro. Moving right along, the next of our femme fatales, Clio Gabriella, shot Chris Davidson right in the head. Needless to say, that was the end of the line for him, if not his corpse."

Danya grinned again, recalling the antics of a certain student and the body in question. Points for creativity, most definitely.

"Right after that, the other Ishida twin proved that the incompetence doesn't run in the family and scored not one but two kills. First, Reiko wasted Sally Connelly with a little assist... then she promptly rubbed out her helper, Cyrille LaBlanche too. It was all very emotional, I very nearly shed a tear. And by 'shed a tear', I mean 'fell asleep'."

The man in charge had a whole lot of experience behind him at that moment in time. Twisting the facts came naturally to him now. How he'd framed the kills of Reiko wasn't untrue... just not quite a hundred percent by the book.

"Hold on just a second kiddies, I'm placing an order. Hello? Is that the Nick Reid take out? Yeah, I'd like to order a number 23. That's right, the extra crispy Daniel Vaughan in the molotov sauce. Alright, thanks a bunch. Now, where was I? Oh yes, tenth to be wiped off the map was Petrushka Ivanova as Miss Gabriella chalked up her second kill of the day. What an utter lack of fighting spirit that girl showed, it was really rather disappointing."

Danya's eyes went to the next name on his list and he let out a little snort. This was priceless.

"We then had score two for mother nature. Apparently Megan Nelson picked the wrong cave to spend the night in, because she ended up having an encounter with our resident bear. I guess somebody didn't get the 'do not feed the animals' memo. Everett Taylor was our next victim, he died at the hands of Janet Binachi after a healthy dose of hockey stick."

He stifled a slight yawn. Jeez, he had to get used to getting up early for the morning announcements again. Wouldn't do to seem tired to the children now, would it now?

"Unlucky number thirteen was Keith Christoph. He got beaten to a pulp by Ivan Kuznetsov and trust me folks, it's one for the highlight reel! What do they say about the quiet ones, eh? Fourteenth was a true tragedy as our resident Nazi, Rob Jenkins, broke up a happy lovers' reunion by shooting Paige Single... which I guess is what her boyfriend is now!"

Yep, somebody somewhere was definitely getting seriously drunk.

"Alex Rasputin proceeded to notch up his second head of the day after going all Texas Chainsaw Massacre on Robert Lerger. That'll make sure our ratings stay high, though I'll imagine that youtube immortality isn't much of a consolation for the deceased. Sixteenth to pass on was Brent Shanahan, who really picked the wrong guy to wind up. The track record of our hockey players has been pretty good over the years, and it looks like Staffan of the Kronwall brothers intends to maintain that streak. He shoots - he scores! Not content with that, Staffan went on to strangle Alicia Murazek to death too."

Danya looked to the list again. Almost finished, great. This was a lot of carnage to wade through. It was pleasing, sure enough, just tedious to announce it all. He'd watched the deaths first hand, after all.

"After giving us something of a show this morning, new fan favourite Maria Santiago was the next on the executioner's block, going down to Jackie Broughten's saw. Don't worry Maria, we'll remember you! Well... your body, at least. Eighteenth down was Tony Russo after Colin Falcone finished what he started with an 'accidental' injury."

You could hear the air quotes in Danya's voice. Twist upon twist.

"To round us off for the day, Kris Hartmann became the fourth person to join the two-kill club after gunning down Amber Whimsy. Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Trying to make nice with somebody pointing a gun at you ain't such a bright idea. Well, that's it for the kills, but stick around kids, this next part's important."

Which wouldn't nonetheless, stop some people going on to entirely ignore it. Idiotic danger zone deaths were almost obligatory.

"To keep you all on your toes, it's time for the dangerzones! Since a lot of dummies don't seem to understand this, let me put it simply: You go in zone. Collars goes boom. Got that? Okay children, listen close. As of this announcement, the Lighthouse, the Groundskeeper's Hut and Greens are now danger zones. If you're in any of those places, you'd better clear out pronto! Tick tock, folks!"

Almost as an afterthought, Danya continued.

"One last thing. We've been running our little poll and the runaway winner of today's best kill award is the one and only Ivan Kuznetsov! Congratulations kid, we'll be leaving your prize on the greens for you to collect. Don't worry, we wouldn't blow the collar of our MVP!"

Again, Danya barely stifled a yawn.

"Well, that's it for today. See you all in twenty-four hours! Well, those of you that are still alive, at least..."

The Second Announcement
''Tak. Tak tak tak. Tak tak... tak tak tak tak tak.''

The sounds of rapid-fire typing hung in the air, a bulky keyboard rattling away under the nimble fingers of one of Danya's technical staff. One of the Dorians. One of the Achyls. One of the Lourveys. This particular young woman was known to most as 'Sparky', simply because she introduced herself as that to most and in spite of having been up most of the night, she was still alert and focused. The amount of empty packages of caffeine pills strewn around Sparky's workstation was a pretty good indicator of exactly why that was the case. Her computer was getting the benefits of an intense stare, and all anybody in the vicinity could hear was her working away. The others at their own positions weren't nearly as active, just making the odd adjustment here and there. Sparky was the one real centre of movement.

''Tak tak tak. Tak tak. Tak tak tak tak. Tak tak.''

A few minutes longer, then Sparky sat back, expression completely unreadable. Leaning back in her seat, she stretched both arms above her head and gave a little sigh. The cessation in typing caught the attention of one of her colleagues, or rather, her immediate superior. A muscular black man, who had been regarding the techs with a distinct lack of interest, his name, Melvin Carter.

"You done, Sparky?" he rumbled, glancing at his wrist watch.

Sparky stiffened up, arms snapping straight back down to her sides. She gave a curt nod and stared into her lap, brown curls obscuring much of her face.

Carter inclined his head. He was the quietest of the senior staff of Danya's group and when it came down to it, the most clinical and efficient. He was never going to throw an arm around anybody's shoulders or tell them good job, but he wasn't going to knife somebody in the back either. Not like Greynolds, who'd freely slip between both and do it with a smile. Everyone knew where they stood with Carter. Granted, as with any member of Danya's inner circle that could be 'staring down the barrel of his gun', but at least they'd know about it.

"What were you doing anyway? You must have been typing for hours. I was watching."

Sparky shot half a glance at Melvin, then looked straight back at her lap. She looked like a schoolkid asked to stand up in front of the class and when she spoke up... she sounded like it too. "I... uh. I..." Sparky stopped, frowned. "That explosion outside the sawmill... it uh, it wiped out a few cameras... knocked a couple more offline. Lourvey fixed those but we had some blind spots so uh... I calibrated them to get the best coverage. I, uh, I don't think it's perfect but... I think that's as good as I can get it. Um, Mr. Carter."

There was a snort from Carter. "I'm no mister. I'll say that much. I know you aren't used to us being around, but for me at least, you can make it Carter."

An indescribable look flickered across Sparky's face for a second, then she nodded. "Right Mi... I uh, I mean, Cater."

Carter looked at his watch again, then raised his voice. "Alright people it's announcement time. Clear out, your shift's over."

The techs sat back and began picking up their stuff, as across the island the sound of the PA system coming online boomed into the ears of the students for the second time.

~*~

"Do you kids know what makes Uncle Danya happy?" the voice of the SOTF coordinator was laconic, laid back. He sounded in a great mood. "Things like... fine cigars, roast dinners, quiet nights in with Mrs. Danya... those things make Uncle Danya happy. But what also makes Uncle Danya happy is when his beloved students are game for the competition."

"Ladies and gentlemen of Bayview secondary school. You are making me a very happy man indeed. Not content with your fantastic showing across day one, you decided to not only match but exceed yourselves! The second day of our little competition saw twenty-one students bite the dust, buy the farm and shuffle off their mortal coils! Kids... my hat is off to you."

"Alllllright. Let's get down to the gritty details, shall we? First to die, right after our announcement, in fact, was Dawne Jiang. Miss Jiang decided that she couldn't, wouldn't hold her darling boyfriend Rekka back, and opted instead to stick around in a dangerzone. They say love makes you crazy, I didn't realise that meant 'stupid' too. Next..." Danya sighed. "Honestly kids I don't know how to make this any more simple for you. A certain Rose Codreanu, managed, somehow, to fail to realise that she too was in a dangerzone. We're doing future generations a favour with ones like that, we really are."

Danya glanced back down to his list of names, then smirked.

"Well, after that, everyone's favourite midget, Reiko Ishida managed to score with another double kill. That's right kids, that puts her on four. First up was Tobias Elwin, who took a knife to the throat and then right afterwards, Raina Morales discovered that Reiko's boot was a lot harder than her head. Must've been a real kicker for her..."

"Kill number five was none other than Eva Lancaster, with R.J. Lowe showing her that it's the quiet ones that you have to watch out for... and their guns. Six and seven came in quick succession at the hands of Maxwell Lombardi, our new favourite Brit first strangling Augustus MacDougal to death, then taking advantage of what can be only described as the monumental stupidity of Harold Fisher to take his gun and shoot him with it. Thanks, Maxwell, for showing everyone that there's more to you folks than top hats and tea drinking."

Danya paused for a couple of seconds, looking at the next name on his list. Hs smile, if possible, grew even wider.

"You know what I love so much about SOTF, kids? Giving you guys the opportunity to... get back at each other. Stick up a big middle finger to those jocks that bullied you, or that bitchy group of girls that bellittled you. Well, the spurned Frankie Watson thought he'd give that a shot, but sadly he proved as incompetent in fighting as he had in love, and was stabbed to death by Ericka Bradley."

"Our number nine kill was one for the highlight reel, and apparently Sarah Atwell thought so too, because she filmed it herself! Take a bow, Eve Walker-Luther, for your starring role in Sarah's creative masterpiece. Oh and... my condolences to you, Octavia. At least your mommy got on tv, right?"

The big man gave a little snicker to himself, readily audible across the PA system.

"Speaking of the highlight reel, Maria Graham showed some real flair in taking out Francine Moreau. Let's just say that deep fried Moreau has joined Vaughan at our little take out. Eleventh to die was one Steve Barnes, who found out that Hayley Kelly losing her head meant him losing his. Following on from this, we had a good ol' SOTF classic. Jaclyn Krusche killed Charlotte Cave! Charlotte Cave killed Jaclyn Krusche! Everyone wins! ...Well, sort've."

"Moving right along, we had Theo Behr take a dirt nap, with Rachel Gettys being the one to put him to bed. God probably told her to do it or something. Death number 15 was Chadd Crossen, who showed to us all the limits of just how much one man can suck by falling off a cliff and having his collar explode. Allow me to be the first to say; epic fail. Next to go down was the one and the only Jonathan Jarocki, who somehow got it into his head that running around and yelling and firing his gun like some kind of cowboy was a good idea. Miss Madeleine Smith proved exactly why that was not the case."

Back to the list. Great, just a few more to go. He could really do with a nap...

"Our next victim was Vanessa Struthers, who was shot by David Matson. MUCH more entertaining was our next kill, with Nick Reid doing the honours by smashing Tom Guthrie's face into a fine paste using a rock wall, so for those of you keeping count, that's two for Mr. Reid. Violetta Lindsberg was the next sob story for the evening because in grief for her girlfriend, she blew her own collar. We too mourn, for the loss of potential girl on girl action. But we soldier on."

Danya gave a little mock sigh.

"Twentieth to go down was Trevor Duncan, taking a shot to the collar from William Hearst and finding himself ever so slightly deceased. Rounding us off for the day, Scott McGregor, showing yet AGAIN why you don't make any sudden movements around somebody with a gun, was shot and killed by Raidon Naoko. Although... seriously people, what is it with you guys and hats anyway?"

Scrunching up his list into a ball, Danya tossed it to one side and smiled, looking at the computer set up to one side of him. On the screen was a map of the island, a few areas greyed out. With the flick of a switch, he could make any of the locations into a dangerzone.

"Alright kiddies, all the current dangerzones are cleared. But, it wouldn't be any fun if we had none, so I'm going to go ahead and name The Infirmary, The Key and The Mansion as our latest dangerzones. Don't pull a Codreanu, folks - haul ass!"

"Our last order of business for this announcement is that perennial office favourite; the best kill award! Sarah Atwell, I hope you remember us when Hollywood gives you a call, because you're the winner of today's award! Please head on over to the Infirmary in a short while to collect your glamourous prize!"

"Wishing you all love, cuddles and violent murder, this is Danya signing off. Toodles!"

The Third Announcement
The break room was all but deserted. The jukebox wasn't playing, the TV showed nothing but a blank screen. The coffee machine, usually gurgling away, was silent.

Dorian Pello sprawled listlessly across one of the room's trio of couches, staring into space. His shift had ended some time ago, in the small hours of the morning, but he hadn't been able to get to sleep. He'd tossed and turned in his bunk for a while, before throwing in the towel and electing to stay up. Rest didn't come easy to Dorian at these times, never had done and in spite of the stress it put on him, he sort of hoped that it never would. Undoubtedly being able to sleep during the games would stop him being so fraught, but... what kind of person slept easily at a time like this?

People like his boss.

How'd he ended up this way? Dorian's employment under Danya had stretched to years now and... and well, he no longer had the crutch of his mother's sickness to justify himself. For everything he'd done, for the all the help he'd given Danya and the rest of his team with managing the technical aspects of the game. All his actions... and the money hadn't been enough; or rather it was the medical care that hadn't done the job. His mother had passed away, in spite of his best efforts. Dorian had tried... and he'd failed. But now... now, what could he do? Last time around, he'd been forced to make announcements, speak out to the world. People would know his voice, he had no choice but to stay. He didn't think that the courts would accept a sob story as an excuse for helping terrorists.

"I see you're as cheerful as always, Dorian."

Dorian's head snapped up, suddenly alert. The door stood open, a petite woman framed there.

"Sonia-!" Dorian scrambled for something to say to the Vietnamese woman. "You're looking... well?" he concluded lamely.

Sonia Ngyuyen stepped into the break room with a half-smile on her face at the remark. Dorian watched her as she sank into a plush armchair, studying the woman he hadn't seen for a year or more. She hadn't changed much, apart from her hair being unexpectedly braided. Same square glasses, same leanly muscled physique.

"Thanks, Dorian. It's been a while," Sonia reached for the TV remote and turned it on, flicking through channels until she found where V4 was being broadcast. At this hour, not a whole lot was happening. Most of the feeds were just showing the kids sleeping. Nguyen didn't really seem to mind, watching with apparently rapt interest. There was a long silence.

"Uh... Sonia? If you don't mind me asking... where have you guys been all this time?" Normally, it wasn't a question that Dorian would venture, but Sonia seemed very relaxed and since they were both off duty and everything...

Nguyen raised an eyebrow, apparently surprised at the question.

Then, she spoke. "Dorian, in our profession, you sometimes need a little bit of leverage over others to meet your ends. Sometimes, you're lucky enough to get some by chance... others?" there was a glint in Sonia's eyes, shining behind her glasses. "Well, others let's just say you have to make it for yourself. What Greynolds, Carter and I were doing was making... leverage."

A chill went down Dorian's spine.

~*~

"Doo doo doo da dee da doo doo..." Mr. Danya hummed a snatch of song to himself, rather tonelessly, as it happened. Contrary to his lackey, Danya had enjoyed a very good night's sleep, turning in early to account for having to get up at the crack of dawn to review his notes for the announcement. But then, when the game was running well, Danya's good cheer seemed to be endless.

Keying the PA system, a grin creeping onto his face, Danya cleared his throat. "Kids, when I first looked through the dossiers we have on you guys, I was thinking no way no how were a bunch of saps like you going to provide much of a spectacle."

"I'm ever so glad you've all proved me so completely wrong."

"Ladies and gentlemen, as of this, the third announcement, a further twenty-three of your peers have bitten the dust. Outstanding, kiddies. Simply outstanding."

"First up, yet another waste of time decided to opt out, Hermione Miller making it easier on all the rest of you by setting off her own collar. Guess she won't be appearing in any more photo-shoots anytime soon. Vera Osborne then showed everyone exactly why you don't interfere in the business of others, getting taken out by Maxwell Lombardi. Next of the morning, Kris Hartmann proceeded to notch up her third kill by offing Albert Lions. All I can say is Heil Hartmann. Keep it up!"

Danya sniggered to read the next name. This was priceless.

"Once AGAIN demonstrating that even the island is out to kill you, Samaya Boen-Hilstrand fell victim to a poisonous snake. Which bites, I guess. Fifth up - or rather down, was Jackson Ockley, who found that the kiss Ilario Fiametta gave him wasn't exactly the type he would have enjoyed. Nice work Ilario, daddy will be proud. Cody Jenkins was our next not so lucky customer, who had the genius idea of getting between Maxwell Lombardi, Maxwell Lombardi's gun, and Maxwell Lombardi's target. You do the math, children."

"Quincy Jones decided to stamp his mark on the game, putting an end to Max Neill, whilst Janet Victoriee-Ser gave us a show with her vibrator... although not exactly in the way we'd intended. I'm sure her death was as humiliating as it was painful. Fan favourite Sarah Atwell then showed that she's got some variety in her repertoire by stabbing Miranda Merchant in the throat. Hey, a good director has got to diversify now and then, right? Tenth to buy the farm was Edward Belmont, who invoked the wrath of god in the form of Rachel Gettys and took a rock to the head for his trouble."

"And the fun goes on. Hayley Kelly, having sharpened her skills yesterday, demonstrated her perfect beheading technique, this time on James Mulzet. Points for execution, if not originality. Charles Richard Dawson was the next man eliminated, falling victim to Clio Gabriella - yup, that girl again! Our unluckiest of the pack this time was Daniel Kensrue, who took a shot to the face from Claire Lambert. Welcome to the club Claire, you've got a lot of company!"

"Our fourteenth casualty was Deidre Paul, who took a tumble into the swamp and didn't come back out. For those of you keeping score at home, that's island four, dumb kids, nil. Next of the pathetic saps crew we had Simon Fletcher, who didn't even have the balls to off HIMSELF, and had to get Samantha Ridley to do it for him. Shame on you Simon, now Samantha has to live with shame and guilt tormenting her for the rest of her doubtlessly short life. Shame on you."

"Brock Mason finally found a gun that he could operate... although too bad for him it was pointing in the wrong direction. Seventeenth to be fitted for a coffin was Dominic Stratford, who after a long, hard struggle and a battle with Alex Seymour. Well. Uh. Died. Nice going kid. Next, that man Maxwell Lombardi popped up yet again, this time to put paid to Daniel Blessing. Count 'em kid, at least you don't have to worry about the clowns any more. Trying to keep pace for the top gun contest, Clio Gabriella stepped up to the plate and took out Luke Templeton for her fourth and our 60th kill of the competition."

"Cisco Vasquez took a page out of the ninja handbook in cutting the throat of Katelyn Wescott. Our twentieth kill was a little bit of justice, or at least, that's what the murderer, Julian Avery would claim. Omar Burton probably wouldn't agree though. Just an inkling. We then had the other Kronwall brother join team-killer by proving that fat people are not in fact bulletproof and offing Craig Hoyle. All I can say is TIIIIIIMBEEEEEEEEER!"

"To wrap things up, Lucas Lupradio boarded the boat to failville after tangling with Peter Siu. If that slash to the throat is any indication, he's reached his destination as the 23rd and final student to die on day three. Once again kids, I commend you."

Danya sat back, stretched, and gave a slight yawn.

"All but done, folks, but stick around kiddies, this part's important. The current dangerzones are clear, but it wouldn't be fun at all if we stayed with ALL access now, would it? The Warehouse, South-East Woods and the East Beach will now make you explode. And that would be bad."

"Oh, and Mr. Ilario Fiametta III? The viewing public was a big fan of your work. Stop by the warehouse for your fabulous reward!"

"Keep busting heads and taking names, kids, Uncle Danya's real happy! Ciao!"

Liz Polanski's Bounty Announcement
The technician known as Sparky sat at her workstation and simply stared at the screen of her computer. She wasn't entirely sure that she believed what she was seeing. A couple of the others had picked up on one of the kids - the weird little goth that had smeared herself with gore and had been responsible for part of the swamp being set ablaze - had been gathering pieces of scrap. Tin cans, mostly. Lourvey had brought it up with Achyls, but the senior tech had dimissed it; nobody was going to break through a collar using a soda can. It wasn't worth monitoring.

Except, apparently, he'd been wrong.

Her eyes had to be playing tricks on her. There was no way that anybody had the balls to put themself through that much pain. Sparky blinked, hard, rubbed her eyes, but no, the sight remained. A girl screaming in pain, the hot aluminium she'd melted scalding her skin even as it did unknowable damage to the inner workings of the collar. Sparky was stunned, she was amazed, in a couple of small ways, she was even a little impressed.

For a good thirty seconds, the young woman watched Liz Polanski's agony, transfixed by the pain of a girl that she was barely a year older than. A few moments more, then there was a sharp intake of breath from behind her. Sparky turned.

All the colour had drained from Dennis Lourvey's face. "Is that...? Oh shit. Oh shit."

Achyls, working nearby, heard the other technician speak up and seeing his face, all but leapt out of his seat, knocking it over in the process. He'd been jumpy ever since he'd realised that the destruction of a camera in the Ranger's Station had effectively left them with a room-sized blind spot. Achyls had blown the perpetrator's collar personally, but Sparky had worked with him long enough to tell that the concern was eating away at him.

Achyls rushed over and the second he saw Sparky's display, he swore. "Blow the collar!" he barked at the woman, who snapped out of her daze for a few moments to enter the associated command. Nothing happened. "I said BLOW THE FUCKING COLLAR!" Achyls bellowed.

Sparky flinched back. "It-it... it won't work, Sir!"

The lead technician whirled around and grabbed Lourvey by the lapels before screaming into his face. "Get Danya! NOW!" his subordinate was out of the door in the blink of the eye.

Sparky looked back to the girl on her screen, others now on hand to help her. The young tech's eyes narrowed in thought.

~*~

The door almost burst from its hinges as the man himself, Mr. Danya, swept into the hub room. Behind him came Richards and Baines, both carrying assault rifles and wearing their best poker faces. Lourvey stumbled along after them, still deathly pale, although seemingly now with the makings of a black eye. Almost unnoticed, Jim Greynolds slipped in last, expression unreadable.

Unlike that of his boss.

Danya wasn't angry. His emotional state transcended mere anger. He was furious, so enraged that one could practically see the steam emerging from his ears. When he spoke, his voice trembled. It was obvious that Danya was having to put considerable effort into not breaking something.

The question was simple. "Who. The hell. Missed it?"

Silence. Danya made fists, took a deep breath. A red smudge was visible on his knuckles.

"Who saw the kid getting materials together, and didn't. Tell. Me?"

More quiet.

"There are five of you, and you're trying to say that not one of you saw what was going on? Don't insult my intelligence."

And then a voice. "It was Achyls."

Every person in the room turned as one... to Cecily Lacoste, twirling a blond ringlet of hair around her finger. She had the look of somebody that was very much trying to hide a smile.

"Explain," growled Danya.

"Lourvey saw what the girl was doing. Achyls told him not to bother with it."

The senior technician gaped, mouth opening and closing mutely, like some kind of fish. Danya let out a long, heartfelt sigh.

"Oh Achyls. All this time, all that experience, and now you spring this on me?" Danya looked up to the ceiling for a couple of moments, as if thinking. "I'm afraid that you're no longer inexpendable, Achyls. Such a shame. We had some times, didn't we?"

Achyls swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing noticeably. "So that's it? 5 years and that's all I'm worth to you? You're just going to kill me!?"

Danya chuckled, conveying absolutely no humour. "Oh no no, Achyls. I'm not going to kill you," Danya swivelled, gestured to Sparky. "She is."

There was a momentary silence, then Achyls, with a roared 'Fuck you!', launched himself at his boss, desperation granting him enough speed to... get cold cocked in the jaw by the butt of Richards' gun. He went down hard with a cry, clutching his face as he sprawled on the floor. Danya looked down on the technician for a moment, tipping Richards and nod, then returned his gaze to Sparky, who seemed stunned.

"I meant that, by the way," he favoured her with a grin. "You're the new girl, it's traditional," Danya considered a moment. "Not to kill one of us. Getting your hands dirty. Baines," he gestured and the blond man stepped forward, drawing a pistol and holding it out to Sparky. She took it gingerly.

Danya nodded. "Kill him."

Sparky looked down at Achyls. Her former superior looked up at her, still holding his broken jaw. There was little more then resignation in his eyes. Sparky hesitated for a couple of seconds, the gun an unfamiliar weight in her hands. A little longer, and Achyls spoke.

"Go ahead," he forced put, wincing as the action aggravated his injury. "Shoot. I'm just one in a long line that's outlived his usefulness," Achyls hauled himself to his knees. "Just remember that sooner or later, it'll be you th-"

The gunshot cut him off.

~*~

"I was under the impression, Lourvey, that you redesigned those things to be foolproof."

"With respect, sir, I didn't take into account that somebody might be willing to pour molten metal onto their own neck. I'm amazed the kid still has a throat. If that group hadn't been on hand to help her..."

"We don't trade in ifs and buts, Lourvey, it's vital that we prevent her from..." a smile crossed the face of Mr. Danya. A sick, sick little smile. "Lourvey, check the girl's dossier. ... I think we might have a friend of hers around the place."

~*~

Kwong Lei stirred and for the first time in four days, became aware of his surroundings. He'd been kept in a drug induced stupor for much of his time there, eating and drinking what he'd been given on autopilot, incapable of wading through his thickness of mind to formulate any thought.

Until now.

He was in a well-lit room, and he was sitting on - no, tied to a chair. He'd been positioned in front of a desk, upon which was a computer with a display he didn't understand, and a large microphone. Kwong tried to turn around, to see what was behind him, but found his movement too restricted by the ropes binding him to manage it.

There was a grunt. "Stop with the moving, or I'll start with the shooting."

"Don't be a moron, Baines," Kwong heard the eyeroll. "The big man will fucking murderise us if we hurt him."

"Murderise? Really Richards? Really?"

For a moment, Kwong was back in the classroom again. He had a strange urge to threaten detention. However, before his (still admittedly a little drugged up) mind could come up with anything foolish, the spell was broken.

"Children... children. I suffer from enough bickering at home, and the two of you don't strike me as eight year olds," muttered apologies, then somebody walked around to stand in front of Kwong. He stiffened.

It was the man who had introduced himself as Danya.

"Mr. Kwong," Danya said, seeming to savour the name. "So pleased to finally meet you in person. I'm afraid I'm going to be very rude here, but ...I'd like you to do something for me.

Something very important."

~*~

The PA system crackled into life across the entire island, sparking confusion amongst the students. This only intensified when the voice that began to speak wasn't that of Danya... it was that of Kwong Lei, their math teacher over years of education. Mr. Kwong's voice was uncharacteristically but surprisingly tremulous.

"Good afternoon, students. I've been instructed to read out a prewritten statement from Mr. Danya regarding an incident that has taken place on the island," he cleared his throat.

"And I quote.

It's come to our attention that one of your number has been interfering with their collar. This is clearly unacceptable," Kwong's voice grew a little stronger at this, beginning to drip with sarcasm. "After all, we wouldn't want anybody refusing to play ball, would we? The student in question is Liz Polanski, some of you might know here. I'm speaking to you in order to bring an offer from Danya.

Should anybody successfully kill Liz Polanski, they will immediately be awarded a weapon from our very own stash of best kill prizes as a bounty.

Miss Polanski. If you instruct anybody, verbally or by any other method, in your techniques, we will immediately detonate their collar. If we see you persisting in trying to break our rules, we will detonate collars at random. If you remain at large, we will send in a team to hunt you and anybody found to be allied with you down. We may also-" Kwong faltered. "We may also see fit to eliminate your beloved teacher."

There was a long moment's silence.

"It has also come to our attention that Miss Polanski has recklessly destroyed one of our cameras, as a punishment, we will now detonate a collar," there was an indistinct murmur across the PA. When Kwong spoke again, he sounded horrified. "What!? No! I - you can't make me-"

A heavy impact, followed by a gasp and a whimper. Somebody had struck Kwong.

"I... I will be commencing this punishment now," a second of silence and... "B148, Daisuke Nagazawa, eliminated.

This is your teacher, Kwong Lei, signing off. Kids I believe in-!"

We now return you to your regularly scheduled SOTF action.

Day Four's Third Announcement
The atmosphere at HQ was tense. Everyone was on edge. It wasn’t every day that someone like Achyls, someone who had been with the group so long, was terminated. It had been terrifying to watch, not to mention uncomfortable. After all, even if he had warned the man, Dennis Lourvey had been involved pretty heavily in the collar department as well. He knew that any systemic problems would spell serious, serious trouble for him, and the fact that one person had managed to defeat their security meant that more could. The solution was simple—of course it was; the collars were too well engineered for anything too advanced to have much hope of working.

Some of the others had seemed confused when watching the footage. They couldn’t even begin to comprehend what had happened. Lourvey, on the other hand, understood perfectly. The Polanski girl had realized that removing the collars was hopeless, but had simply found a different method of dealing with things. The collar around her neck was still fully functional, still entirely armed and operational. She had simply found the reception ports for the radio signals and blocked them up with an impenetrable layer of aluminum. It was a logical solution, something Lourvey knew he should probably have anticipated during the design stage. Past contestants had been so set on removing collars, so set on ridding themselves of the symbol of their captivity, that most of the security efforts had been put towards making that impossible. Disruption of the signals was an entirely different matter.

Lourvey knew that it was possible for the situation to be replicated. There were many kids on the island. Many chances to find a little blind spot in the camera network. All it would take was for another person to play scientist, and Lourvey would be in serious jeopardy. It was absolutely imperative that he fix the situation, and fix it right away.

Unfortunately, this was a bit more complicated than it sounded. He’d spent most of the time since the surprise announcement staring at his monitor, willing a plan to form. It was all logistics. It wasn’t like they could put the game on hold, call all the students back for a hardware adjustment. There was no possible way to change the engineering of the collars now. Sure, for the next version he’d already come up with a dozen ways to avoid this. That didn’t do him much good right now, though.

He stared at the monitor, watching the text blur as his eyes defocused. Something. There had to be something. Some way to fix this mess. It was probably simple, too. One simple solution to counteract another. It was right there, on the tip of his mind.

“Hey, Lourvey, any thoughts on Best Kill?”

The words jolted him up, shook him out of his stupor. His initial reaction was anger. Like he had time to think about the Best Kill Award now, when his life was on the line. He tried to see who had called, disguising the movement of his head by wiping his brow, seeing if it was someone he could snap at for disrupting him when he was so close to the—

Click.

Best Kill.

It all fell into place.

“Get Danya,” Lourvey said.

Then, turning to the others in the room, he started speaking. It took a second to get their attention; over the past few hours, he’d become more a part of the scenery than an actual participant in events. Now, though, he had something to say. Something big.

“We can fix it now,” he began, hoping he was right, hoping he hadn’t missed something and just disturbed the boss without reason. Better to brief the others now, so if they spotted any flaws, any at all, he could BS some other reason for calling Danya.

“So, the collars need to receive a signal to blow them up, right? And she prevented hers from doing that. It’s a problem, but only because we can’t send that signal. The bomb still works fine, and she’ll still blow up if she tries to yank the thing off.”

So far, so good.

“Now, there’s one situation where we don’t have to send a signal to the collars to blow them up. That happens if the collar is in a danger zone. As soon as it realizes that, it starts a timer, and the person has three minutes or so to get out. A signal is sent to initiate the process, but after that it runs on its own. Once they are out, the tracking system realizes this and sends another signal turning off the danger zone timer.

“We can use this. Because, see, there’s another use. It only comes up once each day, but there’s one student protected from one danger zone every day. The winner of the Best Kill Award. Then, we broadcast a signal to their collar constantly while they are in the specific zone they are allowed access to, suppressing the countdown as long as the signal is received.

“That means, to stop another stunt, all we have to do is make the entire island a danger zone.”

Somewhere in there, Danya had turned up. Not good. He was quicker than Lourvey had thought. The boss had a surprising ability to turn up where he was least expected.

“Explain,” he said. His tone said more, said it had better be a good explanation. Lourvey gulped.

“W-well,” he said, his confidence flagging. “It s-seems like we could just make the whole island a danger zone. S-start the countdown on every collar. Then, we use the system normally used for the Best Kill winner to suppress the countdowns. That means that, if anyone else did the same thing Polanski did, or found a weak spot in the network, well...”

Danya was smiling. Lourvey had no idea if that was a good sign or an awful one.

“...t-their collar w-would start beeping,” Lourvey continued, “a-and they’d have about three minutes to get clear. Of course, if they’d disabled their collar’s ability to receive, they wouldn’t be able to do that, and...

“Boom.”

Danya glanced around at the other techs in the room, searching, perhaps, for signs of dissent, for the same problems Lourvey had hoped to iron out before this presentation. Nobody said a thing.

“Do it,” Danya said. “I don’t think this is going to be mentioned on the announcements. I think anyone clever’s going to have a little surprise today.”

That said, he stalked out of the room.

As soon as he was gone, a sigh went throughout the room. Someone clapped Lourvey on the back, causing him to cough.

“We’ll have to do a bit more manual work on DZs,” he said, “but it should all work fine. We should be able to get the computer set up to not broadcast the suppression signal to anyone in a DZ soon enough.”

Suddenly, the room was buzzing with activity again, as everyone got to work implementing the changes.

That evening, right before the announcement came on, the collars of every living student on the island—except one—gave a single beep in unison.

~*~

MR. DANYA, I THINK YOU'VE GIVEN ME A WAY TO WIN YOUR GAME.

Liz's hands wrote slow, painfully, cramped. She bit her lip until it was bleeding. It's a game. Just a game. Treat it like a game, and play to win.

She shivered, under all her sweaters. She was thinking emotionally, irrationally. There were things to do before she played chicken with Danya.

She sat herself in a blind spot, and made one hundred and three copies of Plan Faraday. One hundred and three. It was a lot. Hopefully enough. One hundred and three was a number that made her grit her teeth. It was nothing good, that number. If they knew about Mr. Kwong, maybe they knew what numbers she liked and hated too.

And they wouldn't think she'd make one hundred and three copies of any fucking plan.

Then, in her tiniest handwriting, she wrote a note that might save her life. It was a very small hope.

She sighed. Pocketed the plans, all one hundred and three copies on folded paper. Pocketed the two knives, the mirror, the pad, the paper, the pen, the net gun and her worn lipstick. She was getting ready to run. After this, there would be a lot of running.

No. That was the wrong order to do things in. She took the lipstick out of her pocket. Wrote on Winnie's sweatshirt, in big, inky letters COLLARS HAVE MICS. She wasn't sure this was true, but she assumed it was. Better safe than sorry. And anyway, it was better than any other explanation for why she wasn't speaking.

Then she took off Winnie's sweatshirt and lipstick-wrote the steps to Plan Faraday on Cyrille's yellow halter top. This meant getting briefly naked in the middle of the forest, which was troubling if someone tried to kill her. But no one tried to kill her. So she was safe.

The shirt was inked with words. It looked vaguely punkish. She tied it back on, and carefully zipped up Winnie's sweatshirt over it.

Then she showed the pad to the camera.

MR. DANYA, I THINK YOU'VE GIVEN ME A WAY TO WIN YOUR GAME AND MAKE YOU LOOK DUMB.

Flipped the page. New, blank, lined. She wrote large again, painfully.

TWO HUNDRED CAMERAS IS NOT VERY MANY CAMERAS.

Flipped the page.

IF YOU'VE BLOWN UP TWO HUNDRED STUDENTS, YOU LOOK LIKE A PUNK.

That one was hard to write. Flip the page. Keep going. Lie. Lying on paper is fine.

IF I'M THE ONLY SURVIVOR, I'VE WON.

She flipped the page again. Her thoughts were not coming in the right, chronological order. This was disturbing.

But there was only one more thing to say here.

LET'S PLAY.

She pocketed the pad and pen, took out her knife, and gouged the lens out of a camera.

And another camera. And another camera.

The PA system crackled to life. The voice of Danya was calm, laconic, at odds with what anybody would expect.

"Evening children... my aren't we having a busy day? It seems that one of your number has no regard for the rest of you. Gee, I tried to warn you about that Liz Polanski, but she just won't stop playing roulette with your lives. Much as it pains me to say this... somebody came up with the unlucky number.

G004. Lucy Ashmore. ... ... now where's that button? Oh yes, there it is. ... Eliminated."

And another camera. And another. Gouging out the lenses carefully. She could smash later. When she had more energy. When she had to run.

"But that's not all kiddos. Why, as we speak, little Liz is continuing her destructive ways, sabotaging my valuable equipment. Help me help you, children. If you take her out, then, well. My fingers won't slip again.

Oops. Like then. B045, Alex Rasputin, eliminated. Oops! My my, aren't I clumsy today? There goes B149, Trent Hunter as well!"

There was no use trusting him. He probably lied. She should have told him--should have told him she'd give herself up in exchange for Mr. Kwong's release. But it was too late now. Anyway, they were terrorists. And she wasn't smart, with people. They could double-cross her in an instant, and she'd probably never know, unless Danya laughed in her face about it.

He probably would.

That was a glum thought. She should have eaten before doing this.

Another camera. Another. This was easy. She could cut through them like butter.

"Well kids, that's it for now. Do try to get rid of that pest, hm? Next time, it could be your head. Oh, and, speaking of executions. Miss Polanski? I'm dangerously close to having a ... ahem. Word with teacher dearest.

Mull that one over for a bit, will you?

Sayonara!"

Now, perhaps, was time to run. She had to cover as many zones as possible before she--

Before I die.

Well, that wasn't a cheerful thought. But it was inevitable.

She had one-hundred and-three plans, plus one on her shirt, and one note that could hopefully buy her a little time. And she was full of energy now, energy that was probably unhealthy, considering how little she'd eaten.

But energy. That's what she needed.

She ran.

~*~

Sparky tried not to look at... well, most of the things in the room that weren't her monitor. The dark stain on the floorboards. The empty terminal where Achyls had sat. Her colleagues - not because she thought they'd resent her, because she didn't want their sympathy. They'd been here before (well, except maybe Dorian, but he'd had to work with Danya for longer than almost anyone), but Sparky didn't care for the understanding. She was shaken up, yes, but overall not in too bad a state.

It hadn't been her first time.

Things were quieter now, a little less busy after the frentic activity necessary to install Lourvey's countermeasures. He was a smart man, damn smart. Sparky wondered where Danya had found him, then if the big man had some sort of leverage over him, or he just enjoyed the challenge enough that he didn't care he was getting paid to ensure the death of kids. She'd never asked him, it was a no-go subject around the base. If somebody told you, then great, but you never, never asked why.

Sparky understood that well enough. Her reasons were her own, private. She certainly didn't want any of these guys to know of them.

There'd been talk earlier about sending some kind of team out onto the island. Sparky hadn't been able to catch much of the conversation, since it had been time for her shift and if they knew what was good for them, they weren't late... but it had been interesting. Naturally, it was Richards and Baines she'd overheard. Neither of those two knew how to keep their mouths shut.

Thing was, Sparky didn't know whether this 'team' was for maintenance or for law and order (so to speak). If the former... they'd be needing one of the technicians, a role Sparky very much did not want to fulfil. Out on the island... face to face with those kids. That'd be bad. Very bad. Operating from HQ was one thing, having to meet them personally... Sparky doubted she could handle that. On the other hand, if people were being sent out to martial some of the more disruptive students, they'd need quite some firepower. After all, the kids (...kids, jeez, some of these guys were probably her own age) were armed.

Sparky felt a slight note of unease. If a squad was dispatched, they'd wind up with a skeleton crew...

There was a snap and Sparky practically jumped straight in the air. A choked back laugh came from behind her and the technician whirled to see Melvin Carter behind her, a smile on his usually implacable face. The big man held up a hand and clicked his fingers. Sparky stared for a second, realising where the sound had come from, then hung her head.

"You were completely spaced out there. I have to admit, I wasn't expecting that. I just wanted to get you focused," he cocked his head to one side. "You're looking tired. I can get one of the back-up techs rotated in, if you want. A lot of people struggle with fatigue in their first version."

Sparky shook her head quickly and forced a smile. "M-my shift is over soon, Mi-... Carter. It's just been busy, I'll catch up on sleep soon."

Carter frowned and nodded. "If you're sure," he stepped back from her work area and took up his station in the corner of the room.

Looking back to her monitor, Sparky breathed a quiet sigh.

It was almost relieved.

The Fourth Announcement
"Greynolds, we have a problem."

"...This may be the only time I've ever wished my name to be 'Houston'."

"You're a riot. Now shut up and listen."

"Sorry boss."

"It seems our threats aren't working."

"Polanski?"

"Yeah. She's still being a royal pain in the ass and frankly, it isn't worth the trouble to keep detonating collars. We could hit a real motivator."

"You could always just pick who to explode..."

"We've killed four already. If that didn't stop her, I doubt it's going to have any effect."

"She's ballsy, Danya, you've got to give her that."

"And a fucking pest too. I still have my fingers crossed for the bounty."

"I'm sensing an imminent 'but' here."

"Ding, have a biscuit. Now would you keep quiet for five damn seconds?"

"Sorry."

"Lourvey's fixed the problem of her method getting out to anybody else, but the fact is, her little stunt has left us with blind spots. Some of them are small, others are.. less so. That needs to change. Quickly."

"Repair job?"

"Exactly. Right now, the inland woods are the most badly affected area. We'll need to make them a dangerzone for now... unfortunate, but necessary for the repairs. And well... if we send a decent sized team out, cameras won't be the only thing they can fix, if you follow my meaning."

"Suitably enigmatic, boss."

"Quit being such a smartass and go get a team together, alright?"

"Wait, you're sending me out?"

"...Is that a problem?"

"Boss, it's an early birthday present. Consider it done."

~*~

"Good morning, survivors," Mr. Danya said, with a grin and a smile. "Yet again, you've managed to exceed my expectations. Twenty five more of you met their tragic and heart-wrenching ends yesterday, making it the best day yet. Of course, not all of that was due to direct kills, so I'm not quite sure if we should count it. Ah well, something for the fans to fight out online, I suppose.

"Anyways, first to die was Owen Rothschild, killed by Fiona Sparki. Mr. Rothschild seemed to have a death wish, and you know what they say: 'Axe and you shall receive.'

"Next off, Robert Herrmann got himself in a bit of a bind when the key was declared a danger zone. He managed to take refuge in the sea, but drifted just a bit too far away to actually make it back, so now he's sleeping with the fishes.

"Maxwell Lombardi terminated Simon Grey. Then, in a very touching little moment, Leila Langford put down Hilary Strand, helping her pull the trigger. That's right, kids, friends help friends blow their heads off. Speaking of, Lily Maclaughlin nearly lost her head when she encountered Jackie Myrie, but Ms. Myrie lacked the follow through to actually sever the thing. Shame; decapitations are wonderful for the ratings.

"The next death will be one for the highlight reel, though. Rekka Saionji was actually kicked to death by R.J. Lowe. You always have to watch the quiet— hmm... I feel like I made that one before. We'll have to call Mr. Lowe 'silent but deadly', then. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Sarah Atwell made Chris Carlson the star of her latest masterpiece performance. The tears, the betrayal, it was so very well, ahem, executed.

"Lily Ainsworth tried to strangle herself or something, but she put a little too much pressure on her collar. Kids, we aren't kidding about those things being sensitive. I really do wish you'd stop getting yourselves blown up. Speaking of, Ethan Kent decided to commit a little vandalism and broke some cameras. I'm afraid he won't be doing any more of that.

"Jackie Maxwell took an arrow from Samantha Ridley, making that Ms. Ridley's second kill in a short space of time. Then, yesterday's BKA winner, Ilario Fiametta, put his new toy to use, wasting Etain Brennan. We'll miss that accent; the ladies love an Irishman.

"Nick Reid used his head to eliminate David Anderson. That one must have hurt. Then, there was that little incident that cost Daisuke Nagazawa his life. I'm sure no one will need reminders.

"Tiffany Baker looked at Jason Harris wrong, which was the last mistake she'll ever make. Then Raidon Naoko went ahead and shot Alison Walworth and Madison Stone in rapid succession. I must say, Mr. Raidon sure knows how to bring some of that drama back to shootings.

"After a day of inactivity, Reiko Ishida returned to her two-a-day program, shooting Rizzo Vitoria and then strangling Carol Burke. Sebastian Decartes bashed Carly-Jean Dooley, before they executed a little Jack and Jill routine on a hillside. Only Jack walked away, though.

"Haruka Watanabe was chopped and dumped like old onions by Clio Gabriella. Then, proving that even a loser can turn things around, Jimmy Brennan killed Phillip Ward with a little moxie and a big stick. Jake Crimson painted the ground after taking a hit from Garry Villette. Took a while too. Is it mercy to let nature take its slow course, or is it better to finish someone quickly? I guess that's for all of you to decide.

"Finally, due to Ms. Polanski's stubborn nature, Lucy Ashmore, Alex Rasputin, and Trent Hunter all lost their heads. There's still a nice, shiny weapon waiting for whoever takes Polanski, kids.

"Speaking of shiny weapons, Mr. Brennan, there's one waiting for you at the Radio Tower, which will be a temporary danger zone. Everyone be sure to stay away from the Radio Tower, the Inland Woods, the Fun Fair, and the Southern Cliffs.

"Keep up the good work, boys and girls. Make me proud."

The Fifth Announcement
The room was suffused with a tense silence. Its five occupants were dispersed evenly, one standing rigidly upright, one sprawled across a couch, one leaning against a wall, two seated in chairs. Even in the seemingly laconic members of the group, anxiety was evident in their expressions, tension in their posture. None of them were much inclined to break the quiet, suffocatingly oppressive as it was. When Jim Greynolds called you for a meeting in this organisation, it was rarely a laughing matter.

Well, maybe for Greynolds.

Matt Richards was one of the two that was just sitting down. His knuckles were white from clenched fists, his face drained of colour. Compared to how he was usually, the effects of the wait were written all over his face. He'd just come off his shift of guarding the prisoner (mouthy old bastard just wouldn't shut the hell up, always trying to be philosophical or some shit), when a hand had clapped him on the shoulder. Startled, Richards had turned... and seen the grinning face of Jim Greynolds. That was a smile that he never again wanted to see at such close proximity.

"Got a job for you Matthias. Go to the lounge as soon as you can. Bring your gear. And twinkies."

Not even wanting to correct the mistake, Richards had sprinted off to collect his equpiment.

Richards looked around, took in his companions. Shamino, Domino, Baines. Troopers, more or less, grunts the same as him. Part of the muscle of the AT, though the former two a lot more experienced. The fourth... she was the odd one out in this bunch. Cecily Lacoste, a technician for the most part. No Lourvey, but jeez, Richards didn't think anyone else could be anything close to that guy. Briefly, Richards wondered once again where the hell Danya had scrounged up that little ... crackpot? Genius? Maybe a bit of both. Still, Cecily didn't fit in with the rest of the team... which meant this was probably something big.

Easy stuff, you only needed muscle, bruisers. A few guns to sort out the problem. If you needed a specialist along to join the party, well... Richards wasn't the smartest man in the world, but even he knew that a technical fault in SOTF was a big. Damn. Deal.

The door burst open, the quintet started in unison, even the normally unflappable Shamino. In sauntered Jim Greynolds, an assault rifle slung on his back, striking a stark contrast indeed to the faded grey hoodie he was wearing. If one looked closely, the outline of something bulky beneath the baggy top could be discerned. He might've looked casual, but Greynolds was definitely dressed for a fight.

Greynolds swept the room with a glance. "I see you're all here. Well... the boss man has us on a tight schedule, so I'll try and keep things brief. The reason I've gathered you here is not in fact because I want to see how well you model that body armour, or how mean you can look with a gun. We've got a job to do. I'm sure you all know about the little bitch that ruined her collar. If you forgot, then, well, Achyls is crying somewhere in heaven right now."

Jim smiled that unnerving little smirk of his. "Anyway, Lourvey managed to neutralise the loophole, but we can't get to the chick, because hers is already toast. Frankly I'm surprised she hasn't dropped dead of blood loss or infection yet, but she seems to have a charmed life. ...And she's insisting on making ours difficult. She's wrecked a hell of a lot of our cameras, and it doesn't look like she's slowing down at this point. We've already had to lock down one area as a dangerzone because our coverage was getting too spotty, we can't afford to let her dictate our playing field. So here's what we're going to do."

He looked at each of the five in turn, spending a long moment dwelling on each. "We're taking the chopper to the island, then, we're fixing things up as best as we possibly can. It's possible some of the damage will be irreparable, so we may need to bring along spares. To be honest it's unlikely w'ell get total coverage back, but if we can patch up the blind spots a little, then it'll be less of an issue overall. That's objective number one, and it's why we're bringing the lovely Miss Lacoste along, before any of you complain. Well, unless any of the rest of you feel like trying to wire a camera and then explain to Danya why we're behind schedule. ...No? Didn't think so."

Greynolds looked down at his feet, then back up again, now holding up two fingers. "Objective two is simple enough. We find this jumped up kid and we show her why you don't fuck with the game, and you don't fuck with Danya. We have more than enough firepower to do the job, and if anyone tries to cross us... well, they get exactly one warning. We're not going in there to play motivators, but we're not pussy-footing around either. They screw around and they're dead, simple as that. Nobody is catching a bullet just because we don't want to 'interfere'."

"Any questions, children? ... Good. Let's get this field trip rolling. The helicopter's waiting."

They all slowly began to fan out, focused to varying degrees on the task at hand.

"...Hey Matthias? Bring that twinkie?"

~-=-~

CLASSIFIED PERSONNEL FILES

NAME: Stockton, Christina "Domino"

AGE: 28

ETHNICITY: Caucasian

HAIR: Light Brown

EYES: Brown

HAND TO HAND COMBAT: Competent

MARKSMANSHIP: Good

EXPLOSIVES: Limited

LEADERSHIP: Minimal

TECHNOLOGY: Competent

SERVICE HISTORY: Member of Arthro Taskforce as of Test Run 8. Took part in that exercise and accounted for two kills. Primarily served in a support/preparation capacity during prior versions, due to potential emotional instability. Took an active role in island clearing for V4.

ANALYSIS: Stockton is a fairly reliable and effective member of the AT. She is generally fairly level-headed, though has shown a tendency towards emotional instability in times of stress. Since all of her outbursts have been focused outwards, this is not a major problem, though she should probably not operate independently. A good underling, but should not hold positions of independent authority.

APPEARANCE: A short (5'2"), somewhat stocky (135lbs) woman, Stockton is not by any means attractive in the conventional (or even the exotic) sense. She is plain, with a broad face and slightly crooked nose. She wears her hair at shoulder length, rolling it into a bun when on the job to avoid providing anything for attackers to grab.

PERSONALITY: Stockton is a vindictive woman, disgusted with humanity as whole, her family in specific, and herself to at least some degree. She is reliable as long as she has a mission to accomplish, but can become sullen and uncooperative if given too much free time. She shows a decent sense of camaraderie with her fellows in AT. Despite her fairly early induction into the organization, she keeps a low profile, and due to her lack of skill on the leadership front and overall lack of initiative, has never climbed the ranks. This does not seem to bother her in the slightest; in fact, she seems to prefer the relative anonymity of a lowly-placed jack of all trades.

NAME: Warhen, Shamino

AGE: 36

ETHNICITY: Caucasian

HAIR: Black, head shaved

EYES: Blue

HAND TO HAND COMBAT: Competent

MARKSMANSHIP: Competent

EXPLOSIVES: Limited

LEADERSHIP: Competent

TECHNOLOGY: Good

SERVICE HISTORY: Member of Arthro Taskforce as of SotF V2, albeit on reserve until V4 preparations. Took an active role in island clearing for V4. Took an active role in the acquisition of students for V4.

ANALYSIS: Warhen is a reliable member with skills primarily in the area of technology and acting. Generally respected by other members of the AT. Prone to practical jokes and humor when off duty, but never in a disruptive manner. Warhen is not an optimal leader, but can hold up passably if required.

APPEARANCE: A man of average height (5’11”) and fairly standard build (175 lbs), Warhen would be unnoticeable except for one thing: his sense of fashion when it comes to grooming. With his head shaved entirely bald, and a long black mustache, he has a fairly intimidating appearance, belied slightly by the perpetual sunburn on his head. He walks with good military posture, even during his free time, though he knows how to appear inconspicuous if he has to for an assignment. Warhen’s facial features are fairly smooth, though his nose is notably large.

PERSONALITY: Warhen is a strange man. Off duty, he is warm, positive, and aggressively friendly, spending time getting to know everyone on AT he can. He enjoys playing jokes, which, though largely harmless, can at times range into the realm of the mean-spirited. On duty, though, he is completely different, focusing with a single-minded attentiveness on the completion of his assigned goals. This is clearly a personal choice; he has proved an able infiltrator and actor where required, as during the kidnapping of the Bayview senior class, where he took the place of a bus driver. His real talents, though, lie in the field of applied technology; he’s no Lourvey, but he’s one of the go-to guys for setting up jammers and other electronic trickery. In combat, he’s no better than anyone of similar training and background, though his appearance can lead others to overestimate his skills, a fact he is used to exploiting.

NAME: Richards, Matthew

AGE: 27

ETHNICITY: Caucasian

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Green

HAND TO HAND COMBAT: Competent

MARKSMANSHIP: Good

EXPLOSIVES: Limited

LEADERSHIP: Competent

TECHNOLOGY: Limited

SERVICE HISTORY: Member of Arthro Taskforce as of SotF V2, albeit on reserve until V4 preparations. See also ESCAPE INCIDENT. Taking an active role in island clearing for V4. Efficient if unremarkable.

ANALYSIS: Richards, though prone to grumbling, is an effective member of the AT. Complaining should not be taken seriously, as he will still fulfil his orders to the best of his ability. Works well under instruction but struggles without guidance, though he can be counted on to at least perform adequately in charge. Useful but not to be overestimated, best used as a grunt.

APPEARANCE: Richards stands at a rangy 6'4", 190 lbs. Short haired and clean shaven, the most remarkable thing about Richards' appearance is a scar running across the bridge of his nose, extending underneath each eye. Otherwise, Richards looks decidedly clean cut.

PERSONALITY: Richards is a cynical, pessimistic individual, who has a tendency to complain about anything and everything. Whilst it's arguable if he is truly that dour, Richards remains entirely professional about his duties, following instructions and assigned tasks with 100% dedication, indicative that his grumbling may in fact be something of a front. Known for having a seemingly hostile relationship with fellow AT member Josh Baines, although given the pair partner off so often, it appears they are actually friends.

NAME: Baines, Josh

AGE: 26

ETHNICITY: Caucasian

HAIR: Blond

EYES: Blue

HAND TO HAND COMBAT: Excellent

MARKSMANSHIP: Good

EXPLOSIVES: Minimal

LEADERSHIP: Minimal

TECHNOLOGY: Competent

SERVICE HISTORY: Member of Arthro Taskforce as of SotF V2, albeit on reserve until V4 preparations. See also ESCAPE INCIDENT. Taking an active role in island clearing for V4. Somewhat lazy.

ANALYSIS: Baines is an oddity, for a soldier of his calibre, he is very laconic and laid back and has an overall poor attitude. Prone to barbs at his fellows, meaning most either enjoy his wit or are irritated by it. Works fine independantly, far too relaxed for leadership. Effective but not remarkable.

APPEARANCE: Baines is a small (5'8"), lean (142lbs) young man, whose adherence to dress code is minimal at best. His face has a youthfulness which belies his real age, something which constant blond stubble does little to allieviate. His hair reaches his neck and tends to be kept back with a headband. See also AT DISCIPLINARY CONCERNS.

PERSONALITY: As previously noted, Baines can be a troublemaker and bad influence and has a number of minor infractions on his service record. Known to be somewhat provocative whilst being very laid back and dry, rarely rising to the bait of others. Oddly enough best paired with Matt Richards, as their apparent hostilities towards one another can more or less neutralise their negative influence. Note that they appear to be friends.

NAME: Lacoste, Cecily

AGE: 27

ETHNICITY: Caucasian

HAIR: Blond

EYES: Blue

HAND TO HAND COMBAT: Competent

MARKSMANSHIP: Competent

EXPLOSIVES: Minimal

LEADERSHIP: Limited

TECHNOLOGY: Good

SERVICE HISTORY: Member of Arthro Taskforce as of Test Run 8. Took part in that exercise and returned several successful kills. Consistent service since then at HQ, has not been involved in many field operations. Ambitious.

ANALYSIS: Lacoste is a useful asset, if only due to the funding she helps supply through her connections. Adequate technician at HQ, and showed herself to be an effective if brutal fighter during the 8th test run. Also effective at gathering intelligence and smoking out moles.

APPEARANCE: Cecily is not a large woman, standing at only 5'2" and weighing 113 lbs. She has some definite sex appeal, and it would not be a stretch to describe her as beautiful, although Cecily wears scowls far more often than smiles, which has traced a couple of lines into her face. Her hair is very long indeed, and yet there never seems to be a hair out of place.

PERSONALITY: Lacoste is a very ambitious individual, with a ruthless attitude towards her position in our organisation. Commendably dedicated to her work, although this is no doubt due to her desires to rise up the ranks. Intelligent and shrewd, caution is advised in how much Cecily should be allowed to know.

NAME: Greynolds, Jim

AGE: 1337

ETHNICITY: Caucasian

HAIR: Brown

EYES: Blue

HAND TO HAND COMBAT: World Heavyweight Champion/Ninja

MARKSMANSHIP: Hawkeye

EXPLOSIVES: Hiroshima

LEADERSHIP: Genghis Khan

TECHNOLOGY: Haxx0r

SERVICE HISTORY: If you're important enough to be reading this, then you're certainly important enough to already know.

ANALYSIS: Epic.

APPEARANCE: Shorter than average (5'9"), Greynolds doesn't look like much (how little they know!), and certainly wouldn't appear to be a soldier at first glance. His slim figure hides deceptive strength, however, and Greynolds is built more like a runner than anything else. Jim's attire is far, far more casual than the vast majority of his counterparts, as he inclines towards jeans and hoodies; with his floppy brown hair and wire framed glasses, Greynolds looks more like a college student than anything else.

PERSONALITY: I'm hurt by the implication that I could be summarised such in a few short sentences.

Dammit Greynolds! Stop hacking into our database! Its integrity is of great importance!

~*~

"Once again, good morning, kids!" Danya spoke jovially, clearly. "I feel like we're really getting to know each other now, in a way. After all, all of you have made it five days. That's better than over a hundred of your peers. That's right, we passed the hundred death mark yesterday, so congratulations indeed on remaining alive. You've only got, well, a hundred and sixtyish people left to outlive now.

"Without further ado, allow me to begin the accounting. First, Nick Reid expanded upon his repertoire of blunt impact death-dealing techniques by killing William Sears with the wrong end of a sword. Next up, Darren Locke was evicted from his hiding spot via dynamite, courtesy of Staffan Kronwall.

"Marybeth Witherspoon met her end in a particularly... special display of teamwork from Maxwell Lombardi and Clio Gabriella. That'll be one for the reels, if it's not already all over the internet.

"Ricky Fortino managed to kill Isaiah Garvey in a fairly slow manner, via head trauma. Then James Robertson left us with some truly touching and tragic last words, after Reiko Ishida filled his stomach full of lead. Ms. Ishida's schedule seems to be slipping, as that was her only kill today.

"Roman Jackson was stifled in his sleep by Acacia Salinger, Othello style. Then Sofia Martelli spent a lot of time building up to shooting John Smith, who managed to incorporate a cliff dive into his routine. The judges are in: 7.8. Pretty good, Mr. Smith, but the flailing needs some work.

"Marco Stonecastle proved that's it's a terrible idea to rush a known killer with a heavy gun by going after Maxwell Lombardi. Another one bites the dust, folks. Lombardi, seemingly not content, then went off and sprayed Duncan McMahon full of bullets.

"After this, Richard Han managed to topple off a cliff. That'd be another point for the phsyics, kids. Watch your step; you never know what you might land on.

"Hayley Kelly waltzed out of nowhere and blew Jennifer Romita away before she could blink, for our hundredth death of the season. Then Ilario Fiametta shot Timothy Skula, who hit his head on a rock. Those falls can be pretty nasty. You'd be amazed how many people get killed falling on concrete every year. Anyways, after that, Michelle O'Cain took a few bullets to the back from Martin Lovett. Just goes to show, you should pay attention to the people you're killing, not the ones falling screaming from the sky. Live and learn, or, well, don't.

"Someone finally managed to extract a little measure of revenge out of one of our big killers. Clio Gabriella is no more, shot by Tabitha Gweneth.

"We next had a pair of double kills, with Liam Brooks accounting for Raine Schwarz and Ridley Landon. Aren't couple who do everything together just the sweetest? Then Raidon Naoko killed Victoria Logan and Jacob Charles. Avoid Mr. Raidon if you're hoping for an open-casket funeral, folks.

"Hayley Kelly continued her trend of wandering the open areas before randomly blowing someone away when she caught up to Jason Clarke.

"Robert Jenkins chased down Lilian Hayes, showing that not everyone who only killed on the first day has given up completely. Finally, Ben Powell made the phenomenal mistake of painting Courtney Bradley, who in turn painted the ground with Powell's blood.

"We were awfully impressed by the work of Ms. Gweneth. There's a new toy waiting for you in the Town Center.

"Also, stay out of the Inland Woods (Still. You shouldn't be there right now anyways), the Ranger Station, and the Residential Area, including the Town Center. Ms. Gweneth is exempt from those last two for the time it takes to collect her prize.

"Talk to you tomorrow—well, some of you, at least."